


The Road to Hell Is a Slippery Slope

by njw



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Actual Good Birthday, Assumed Relationship, BatLube, Batfamily Bonding, Crack Treated Seriously, Good Intentions, Hilarious misunderstandings, Humor, M/M, The Awkward is Strong, Tim Drake Birthday Hunt Exchange, Tim gets a cat, Trolling, entire drums of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Nightwing almost misses his landing, arms pinwheeling as the import of those overheard words sinks in. He barely manages to avoid falling right off the rooftop. It doesn’t even register, his mind far too busy trying to make sense of what he just heard to even consider his own situation.Jason and Tim are having sex,he thinks, dazed and shying away from examining how he feels about two men he considers his family becoming involved with each other in that way.Then the rest of what they said percolates through his stunned brain, and he almost falls again.And they’re doing it wrong.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 198
Kudos: 727





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CasualOtaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasualOtaku/gifts).



> For CasualOtaku for the Tim Drake Birthday Hunt Exchange. I hope you enjoy this ridiculous story! :D

Nightwing swings in a breathless arc, feeling the tug in his shoulder as the line pulls taut. The chill breeze whips past his cheeks and he grins, then laughs with sheer exhilaration. The city lights twinkle beneath his feet, Gotham’s usual grim aspect softened by the fog which wraps around everything like a soft, gray blanket. He’s always liked the cold marine layer that tends to show up at this time of year, for all that July is meant to be the beginning of summer. It’s a refreshing break from the sweltering heat waves to come.

He feels energized, ready for action. The worst thing he encountered tonight was a couple of belligerent drunks arguing about where they’d parked their car. He confiscated their car keys and used their cell phones to text a safe pickup for each of them, then kept them from stumbling into the street until their rides showed up.

It’s uncommon for a Gotham patrol to go so smoothly. Heck, it would be unusual for Blüdhaven, too. Well, whatever’s going on, Nightwing is not about to let this opportunity pass. Everything seems to be falling into place—not only is he free, so is the little brother he came here to see. Now, hopefully their conversation will go just as smoothly.

Making a face, he wonders if he’ll manage to pull this off. After all, Red Robin’s adept at picking up on ulterior motives. Hopefully he won’t look too closely and figure out what’s going on before they even get this effort off the ground. 

His target comes into sight, standing silhouetted on a nearby rooftop. Nightwing frowns slightly when he sees Red Robin isn’t alone. His frown deepens as he recognizes the large figure standing nearby, thick arms folded across his broad chest as he stares Red Robin down.

Red Hood.

Silently, Nightwing alights on a rooftop overlooking the pair. He really wanted to catch Red Robin alone. Maybe Red Hood will leave soon? A frisson of unease travels through him as he watches, and a cascade of memories flashes through his mind’s eye reminding him of every time things went horribly wrong between those two. He tenses, ready to intervene if needed. “Babs?” he whispers. “Can you get me audio on this?” Hopefully they’re just talking about a case or something, not trading insults or worse.

There’s a moment’s pause as Oracle presumably checks the feeds from his mask and then works on opening a line to the microphone on Red Robin’s suit. There’s no way she has access to Hood’s, but it’s not like they need it right now. “Ten four, Man Wonder. Don’t do anything dumb,” she instructs, a fond note underlying the slight edge in her voice that likely means she’s completely serious about the warning.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, hoping he’ll be able to keep his promise. It’s possible he doesn’t exactly have the best precedent going—he knows damn well he’s failed both Jason and Tim, in different ways—but hey, he’s trying.

A faint click in his ear is immediately followed by the sound of Red Robin’s and Red Hood’s voices, clearly in the midst of an ongoing conversation.

“Jesus, Replacement, the fuck…?” Red Hood growls, his chin lowering as he apparently does his level best to glower at Red Robin despite the presence of the helmet ruining the full effect. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

Red Robin tilts his head. “The money I was watching out for has been transferred, so I don’t need to physically keep an eye on the Montgomery office anymore. I figured you could use my help surveilling the target over here—”

“Not the _case,_ genius, I meant, what the hell? You disappeared on me for a goddamn _week,_ right after we—” Red Hood breaks off, big shoulders hunching slightly.

Nightwing frowns. Red Hood’s stance doesn’t really look threatening right now. In fact, his posture reminds him of when Jason was newly arrived at Wayne Manor, achingly vulnerable and trying to hide it.

“Oh. Uh, I didn’t mean…” Red Robin’s voice sounds flustered. Nightwing recognizes that tone—there’s no way he isn’t blushing like a tomato right now.

Red Hood snorts, his voice sounding bitter and unaccountably hurt. “To fuckin’ ghost me, right after I let you—” He breaks off again and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking even more uncomfortable.

Nightwing’s brows draw together as his sense of unease deepens. This is—there’s no _way_ this is what it’s starting to sound like— 

Red Robin sounds tentative when he replies. “You… wanted me to stay?” He clears his throat and lifts a hand as though to reach out to Hood, then awkwardly aborts the gesture as though uncertain of his welcome. “I thought… I mean, it didn’t seem like you had the best time.” His shoulders tighten and he shakes his head, looking down. “I mean, _obviously_ it wasn’t good for you.” 

“What, because I got hurt? Whatever, I can take a little pain.”

Whatever this is, it sounds serious. Nightwing aims his grapnel and fires, then swings out, intending to land on a closer building so he can get a better view of their faces. Neither of them seems to be paying any attention to their surroundings, their focus entirely wrapped up in each other.

“Hood, I injured you _._ While we were—” Red Robin breaks off, shaking his head and scowling down at his feet. “I should’ve been more gentle, taken better care of you. I could have taken it slower, stretched you out more first. You trusted me, and I hurt you.”

Hood leans forward, reaching out a big hand and cupping Red Robin’s elbow. “What? Is _that_ why you’ve been avoiding me? No, it wasn’t your fault— _dumbass_ —I mean, you fuckin’ _told_ me you’d never done it before like that either, I’m the idiot who pushed and told you to keep going even when I could feel something wasn’t right—” 

Nightwing almost misses his landing, arms pinwheeling as the import of those overheard words sinks in. He barely manages to avoid falling right off the rooftop. It doesn’t even register, his mind far too busy trying to make sense of what he just heard to even consider his own situation.

 _Jason and Tim are having sex,_ he thinks, dazed and shying away from examining how he feels about two men he considers his family becoming involved with each other in that way.

Then the rest of what they said percolates through his stunned brain, and he almost falls again.

_And they’re doing it wrong._

Dismay at that thought chases away any other considerations as he wonders if they’re okay, both physically and emotionally. As far as he knows, neither of them has much—any?—experience with men. Heck, he’s not even sure either one of them has ever been physically intimate with a woman. Sure, Tim dated several girls before, but that was back in high school and Nightwing’s pretty sure those relationships never progressed far beyond hand holding and kissing.

As for Jason, well… Nightwing winces, adding normal teenage relationships to the long list of things the Joker stole from him.

Unbidden, it occurs to him that at least Tim and Jason apparently have each other now. This might be a chance for both of them to recapture some of the experiences they missed out on. It’s weird for him in some ways, he’s not going to lie, but…

If this is what makes them happy, how could he possibly do anything other than fully support them in it?

Of course, from the sound of it, things aren’t going very well for them so far. That’s awkward, but understandable. They’re both so inexperienced, it’s no surprise they’ve been having trouble working things out. He just hopes they’ve managed to avoid actually injuring each other in any serious way.

Well, all they need is a little advice and a heck of a lot of lube.

As he stands on the rooftop, the towering skyline of Gotham’s financial district rising before him, he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He’s got this.

The other thing—the reason he was trying to track Tim down in the first place—well, apparently that will just have to wait. He’s still got a few weeks, after all. Right now, helping the two awkward dorks who are now shuffling and blustering at each other on the rooftop below him clearly takes precedence.

No one needs either of those two taking any embarrassing and avoidable trips to the emergency room. Nightwing frowns. He can’t let on that he knows about Tim and Jason—neither of them would be very forgiving of him overhearing what was probably intended as a very private conversation. He’ll have to couch his help in more general terms. He cocks his head as he thinks about it, then snickers before he takes off, this time headed toward one of Gotham’s numerous all-night adult shops.

He has a new mission, and he knows just what to do.

* * *

Tim eyes the large, bulging bag in Dick’s arms, wondering if it’s safe to accept. There’s something about the glint in his brother’s eye that makes him hesitant. He rapidly thinks back, trying to remember if he pranked him recently—no, it’s been at least a month since he got those old candid photos of Discowing trending, and that backfired because Dick actually _liked_ it. He even wore the Discowing suit out on patrol one night and posed for pictures with fans, because he’s both shameless and a massive dork. 

There’s _probably_ nothing awful in the bag. Still, he narrows his eyes as he gingerly takes it, ready to drop the damn thing if it explodes in a cloud of glitter or something. It doesn’t. Relaxing, Tim peeks inside.

And instantly regret it. “Dick!” he chokes out, jerking the bag closed and shoving it back toward his grinning idiot of an older brother. “What the _hell?”_

Why in the world is Dick giving him—he swallows and closes his eyes as though to block out the memory, but that just intensifies the images filling his mind’s eye—multiple brightly colored silicon sex toys, a ridiculous selection of condoms, and what looks like a giant tube of industrial-strength anal lube?

Tim’s shock and confusion at the bizarre gift actually manage to push aside his lingering feelings of worry and guilt over what happened with Jason. “Is this a prank? Oh my god, it is, isn’t it?”

Dick just shrugs, his dark blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I just thought you’d find these things useful. I mean, you’re almost twenty-one now, it’s probably about time you start feeling certain… _urges.”_ With a shark-like grin, he continues, “So tell me, Timmy, have you been getting hair in strange places? Feeling _special_ stirrings you never you never felt bef— _mmph!”_ He breaks off as Tim dives forward and tackles him into the door, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop whatever horrific stream of awkward was about to come out next.

“Dick, _why?_ What the heck did I do—there’s no way this isn’t vengeance for something.” Tim scowls, annoyed that his cheeks are starting to heat up.

Dick pries his hand off his mouth and blinks at him innocently. “You didn’t do anything, Timmy! It’s just, I know young men your age are probably going to experiment, and I want you to be safe—” He breaks off again, sputtering against the hand which Tim promptly slammed over his mouth again.

“Okay, so you’re not planning to tell me what I did.” Tim pauses, considering, then shrugs. “Fine,” he says, reaching down to retrieve the bag from where it fell to the ground in the scuffle.

“Fine?” Dick echoes, staring at him with slightly widened eyes.

“Yeah.” Tim opens the bag again and reaches in past the Nightwing-blue anal beads—which, what the _fuck,_ Dick?—and the vibrators, dildos, buttplugs, and prostate toys in every color of the rainbow to get to the lube. As he grasps it, he can’t help but read the packaging on one of the toys— _best toys for backyard beginnings,_ it proudly proclaims, and shudders.

Again, what the _fuck,_ Dick? Shaking his head, he lifts out the lube and gives Dick his best bright, faux innocent smile. “Thanks, Dick, I really appreciate this!”

“You… do?” Dick says, clearly thrown by his reaction. “I mean, great?”

“I really appreciate this,” Tim continues earnestly. “I mean, I was getting really low on Batlube. Now I can replenish the stores in the reservoirs on my uniforms!”

Dick has a really weird look on his face. “You… have lube reservoirs on your uniform?”

“Of course. It’s so useful on patrol, you know? You never know when you’ll need to grease a squeaky hinge to get into a room silently, or lube yourself up to slide out of a tight spot.” He peeks into the bag again, then shrugs. “And I’m sure I’ll figure out some vigilante uses for the rest of this stuff, too. I bet I can mount cameras in some of them…”

He trails off, his mind automatically racing ahead for ways to incorporate tech into all these chunks of silicon. Now that he’s considering the possibility, it actually seems workable. It’s not the weirdest gadget idea he’s ever had. And if pretending to totally misinterpret Dick’s intentions helps spare him from any future incredibly awkward sex talks with his big brother, it’s absolutely worth building a bunch of dildo cams. Maybe he can distribute them in Nightwing’s safe houses later, that would be hilarious. “Why haven’t I ever thought of this before? No one would suspect any of these is secretly a camera…”

Dick just stares at him, slowly blinking as though unable to comprehend how wildly this discussion has veered from whatever he had planned. “Timmy,” he starts, then stops. His shoulders slump and he turns away, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. It sounds kind of like he’s saying, “That’s not what they’re _for.”_

As his brother wanders off, a dazed expression on his face, Tim closes the door and smirks. Whatever weird prank Dick was trying to pull on him there, he’s pretty sure he got the best of him.

Glancing down, he sees he’s still holding the lube and bag of sex toys. Shrugging, he turns to head downstairs. He actually is low on Batlube. Might as well restock. And the sex toy camera idea really is interesting…

Tim’s so busy designing and building the luridly colored sex toys into useful gadgets, he almost forgets to worry about the whole Jason situation. Every once in a while, a wave of guilt and regret passes through him. He bites his lip as he considers calling him to apologize once again, then shakes his head. He’s lucky Jason still wants to talk to him at all, after the other night.

The last thing he probably wants is to be reminded of what happened. What Tim did to him. He cringes at the thought, remembering the soft, hurt-sounding noise Jason made, the expression of naked pain and shock on his face before they stopped. It makes his insides twist with shame and self-reproach.

No, he’d better just focus on casework right now and leave Jason alone.

Shoulders slumping slightly, Tim gets back to drilling holes in individual anal beads, the better to mount multiple cameras and listening devices. At least he still has his work to distract him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Nightwing, flying giddily through the air:** “Yay I’m going to go see my baby brother, nothing could possibly happen to ruin this awesome night—”  
>  **Red Robin, talking to Red Hood:** “Dude I’m SO sorry about last night, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”  
>  **Red Hood, sniffing:** *Crosses his arms, looks intensely vulnerable* “You coulda at least been gentleman enough to stay til morning, you cad”  
>  **Nightwing, tripping over own feet in shock:** “Surely it’s not what it sounds like???”  
>  **Red Robin, mumbling guiltily:** “I figured I deserved the walk of shame after messing up so bad. I should’ve stretched you better, not rushed—we probably shouldn’t have started with such an advanced position, either—”  
>  **Nightwing:** “Oh god it IS what it sounds like” *Faints. Awakens hours later inspired to help, shows up at Tim’s apartment dragging own body weight in sex toys and lube*  
>  **Tim:** *Opens door, takes one look and slams it in his face* “What even IS my life”


	2. Chapter 2

“Where is he?” Batgirl says, scanning the rooftops around her for Red Hood’s distinctive silhouette.

“Two blocks east of your current position,” Oracle replies. The sound of tapping in the background means she’s probably multitasking a million things at once, as per usual.

“Thanks. I’ll get the lay of the land.” Batgirl begins to run, timing her jump onto the rooftop of the adjacent building and barely slowing down as she lands, tucking and rolling to her feet in a smooth, practiced motion. It may have taken her a while longer to get to the same level training-wise as some of the other Gotham vigilantes, but she likes to think she’s damn well there now.

“Be careful,” Oracle cautions, repeating the same advice she’s been giving since the moment they overheard that godawful, awkward conversation on the comms last night. There are some things Batgirl just doesn’t need to know about her ex, and the fact that he’s boinking Red Hood—and apparently _bad_ at it—is one of them. 

Nightwing was just supposed to ask Red Robin a few important questions about any plans he might have scheduled for a certain, highly important night a few weeks from now. Everyone who was listening in on the comms got a lot more of an earful than they were expecting.

Weird as the situation is, her heart goes out to those poor, confused boys and their awkward fumblings. Obviously, someone has to help these two idiots work things out before they manage to seriously injure each other. Batgirl’s used to idiots, and one of these is her best friend. She’s clearly the right person to help.

As she approaches Red Hood, she experiences a quick surge of gratitude that Oracle is in her ear. Not only is Oracle the best backup anyone could ask for, she’s also insightful and knows Red Hood better than Batgirl does. There’s a good chance her presence will make the conversation that’s about to happen a little less painful.

Red Hood turns the moment her foot hits the roof, lowering his binoculars and—she assumes—glaring at her from behind that stupid helmet.

Whatever, she has a best friend to protect—or stop from doing something stupid? It’s really hard to tell at this point. Considering Tim’s the one who apparently messed up during the whole sex-fail fiasco, she’s not exactly sure who’s supposed to have her sympathy at this point.

Although, Red Hood hurt Tim on purpose in the past, using weapons like knives and guns. Tim hurting him by accident in a clumsy game of hide the salami doesn’t seem quite comparable. Yep, she’s still on Tim’s side in all this. 

“Hey, whatcha up to?” She squares her shoulders and waltzes right up to Red Hood, who stares at her in apparent bemusement as she snags the binoculars from his gloved hand and uses them to look through the window across the way. “Oh my god!” The binoculars slide out of her hand as she reflexively jerks backward. “What the _heck,_ that’s—that _has_ to be illegal!”

Snickering, Red Hood catches the binoculars and tucks them into his jacket pocket. “You’d think, but there actually isn’t a law on the books against that.” He shrugs philosophically. “Anyway, it’s not like he’s hurting anyone.”

Like hell he isn’t. “He’s hurting that poor pizza!” And Batgirl’s _eyes._

“You’re actin’ like you’ve never seen a man who’s _really_ into his food before.” Hood cackles, the monster.

“He is _literally_ into his food, Hood, and I am _not_ comfortable with watching that.” Frowning, she spins and raises her hands in a sweeping what-the-fuck gesture. “Wait, why are you even watching this? Is _this_ what you get off on?” Tilting her head, she lets that possibility slot into place in her mind. Maybe he and Tim just aren’t sexually compatible? From what she knows, Tim’s really not into objectophilia or whatever the heck this particular kink is called. Although, Red Hood is showing some definite voyeuristic tendencies, which should line up nicely with Tim’s particular kinks. Creepy little stalker. She shakes her head affectionately.

“What? Fuck, no! I’m waiting to see if he takes off to meet a contact I need intel on. Little Red and me have been workin’ this case for a while, and this dumbass here just won’t cooperate. Apparently he’s too busy fuckin’ pizzas to get back to his less weird but more illegal pursuits.” He snorts.

Batgirl nods sympathetically. She’s definitely had to watch a lot of things on stakeouts she wishes she could unsee. “That sucks.” Shrugging, she flops down on the rooftop to sit comfortably. “So, you’ve been working a lot with Red Robin lately?”

Red Hood eyes her for a full minute before he slowly lowers himself to sit next to her, glancing back at the window to check on his target every few seconds. “Yeah.” Even through the helmet filters, his voice sounds defensive.

“Wait,” Oracle murmurs, just as Batgirl is about to launch into a litany of questions.

Her mouth snaps shut. Yeah, okay, her blunt style might be a little aggressive for something as potentially delicate and incendiary as Red Robin porking Red Hood and things going sideways. She huffs a breath, calming herself as she reluctantly admits that when it comes to these two, she’s _always_ on Tim’s side. Maybe she wasn’t the best person to come talk to Red Hood about this, after all. Only, she really does want to make sure they’re both okay. There’s no way Nightwing would be able to handle this delicately. At least she has a pretty blank slate when it comes to Red Hood, so there’s a chance he’ll be open to some advice from her.

The prolonged silence seems to get to Hood, because after a moment he snaps. “It’s not whatever you fuckin’ think, okay? He’s—we _work_ together, alright? Whatever the fuck happened in the past, we get along just fine these days. I swear, I’m not planning to hurt him or anything, whatever the fuck all the rest of you must think.”

And that’s definitely a hurt note trickling through the filters. Batgirl winces, imagining what Red Hood must be thinking about. It would totally suck for him to feel like the rest of the Bats are judging him and worrying about him hurting Red Robin, when in actual fact it’s _Red Robin_ who injured Red Hood most recently, and under highly intimate circumstances.

Yikes.

“He sounds… serious,” Oracle says, sounding faintly stunned. “I think he really likes him.”

Batgirl nods. “I believe you,” she says.

“Really?” Red Hood replies, raising his helmet to look at her. He sounds both disbelieving and hopeful.

Well, that’s not who she was talking to just then, but it’s equally true when directed to him. “Yep.” She’s willing to trust Tim’s judgement in this. Batgirl nods decisively, then smirks. “Okay, since you’ve tentatively earned my stamp of approval, I think there are a few things you need to know about Red Robin.”

And after this talk, maybe she’ll invite him to come help convince the Ghost Dragons that they don’t actually need a drug lab in that abandoned warehouse on Seventh. Maybe there are better ways to do that than blowing the place up, but hey, who’s to say? She was going to invite Red Robin for this—he’s such a little pyro—but getting to know Red Hood seems more pressing. She and Red Robin can blow more things up together later to make up for his missing out on this one.

Grinning, she gets ready to launch into a litany of relationship tips and advice about dating the one and only Tim Drake. Then pauses as she remembers what’s in her belt. “Oh, but first…” She digs into her belt and pulls out the giant tube of glittery purple edible lube she bought special just for this occasion. “I think this will come in handy.” She dumps it in his lap.

Red Hood hesitantly reaches out and pokes at the lube tube. “What the fuck…?” he murmurs. Well, if he doesn’t know what it’s for, maybe Babs can discreetly send some instruction manuals or something? Batgirl can talk about handling dating Tim, but she does _not_ want to deliver a basic facts of life lecture to the man who’s sleeping with her ex. Apparently, that’s just a bridge too far.

“Already on it,” Oracle murmurs, because Babs is clearly a mindreader. “Sending Black Bat to deliver a fifty-five gallon drum of lube and copies of the highest rated guides to sex to each of his safe houses as we speak.”

Oracle really is the best. Black Bat, too.

Batgirl grins, then takes a deep breath. Time for the relationship tips.

* * *

Jason starts shedding layers the second he stomps through the door to this week’s safe house, sighing with relief at being out of the helmet, boots, and thick body armor he wears under the jeans and jacket. The jock falls to the floor next, a soft groan slipping from him at the sheer, sweet relief of being free of it. He’s rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck when he freezes, gaze sharpening as he notices the goddamn fifty-five gallon drum sitting smack in the middle of his living room.

It’s so unexpected and out of place, he actually just stands there like a dumbass, staring at it for a full minute before he jerks into action. The first thing he does is get the fuck out—rather, he starts to book it out of there. No way in hell is he sticking around a compromised safe house to be blown up again or kidnapped or whatever. He can always come back later to disarm any nasty surprises, once he’s had a chance to check his security feeds and find out just how badly he’s been compromised, and by whom.

As it turns out, he doesn’t make it very far. He’s only halfway to the door when it swings open, letting someone into the apartment. Cursing under his breath at not having a gun handy, he braces himself, ready to lunge at the intruder.

The second he sees who it is, though, he straightens out of the fighting stance. “Tim, we gotta get out of here.” Jason steps forward and grabs the other man by the shoulder, trying to gently but urgently push him back out the door.

Tim just blinks at him, his bright blue eyes widening slightly as they travel slowly down Jason’s form, then back up. Were his eyes always this dark? “Uh, why are you naked?”

Fuck.

Jason grinds his teeth, way the hell too aware of the way his cheeks are going hot with humiliation. All four of them. From the look on Tim’s face as he gallantly tries to keep his eyes above the neck, he spotted that too. Fucking full-body blushes. “I like to let loose a little after patrol,” he says, with as much dignity as he can muster under the circumstances. It’s not much.

“Ah,” Tim says, swallowing. His eyes look even darker than before, and he’s blushing now too. Well, at least Jason isn’t alone in his embarrassment.

He frowns, remembering why he was trying to leave the safe house in the first place. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter right now. It’s not safe here, the damn security’s been compromised—”

“Oh?” Tim’s gaze sharpens and he glances over Jason’s shoulder, then blinks. “It wouldn’t happen to be a gigantic drum of lube inexplicably showing up here that made you think the place was compromised, would it?”

Jason’s jaw drops. “How’d you know?” Then the rest of what Tim just said catches up. “Wait, it’s _lube?_ What the fuck?” He turns around and cranes his neck to see better, and oh hey, the fancy script printed on that big blue drum totally reads _‘Passion.’_ Well, that’s… Huh. “Not exactly the standard attack for any of the main rogues.”

“Not a rogue,” Tim says, shaking his head with an amused-looking little smile. At Jason’s questioning look, he shrugs. “They’re from Oracle. I found one in every single one of my safe houses that I’ve checked so far. I was actually just here to start checking yours—I didn’t realize you were staying in this one right now, or I would’ve texted before just barging in.” He blushes again, looking penitent.

“That’s fine, I don’t mind you being here,” Jason says before he remembers that he’s standing here naked with an arm still draped over Tim’s shoulders. Blushing even harder, he withdraws his arm and takes a large step back. “Babs, huh? The hell is she up to, some kinda revenge prank?”

Tim shrugs, wincing. “I think so. There must be a bet on or something, to see who can embarrass me the most. Or us, I guess, since you’re clearly being targeted, too. Yesterday, Dick tried to give me _the talk.”_

“What the hell?” Jason starts laughing. Really, Dickhead? “Pretty sure he’s a few years too late for that.”

“Right?” Tim grins at him. “Hey, you mind if I just order something and crash here tonight? I spent over an hour manually checking each safe house to make sure the others didn’t do anything worse than ludicrous quantities of lube, and I’m beat.” His face falls at Jason’s silence, and he bites his lip, edging toward the door. “Or I could go. Sorry, I get it if you don’t want me to stay—”

Jason barely manages to keep himself from blurting out that Tim can stay as long as he likes. Forever, preferably. “Uh, no, that’s fine,” he says after another awkward silence. “Go ahead and order whatever, I’ll just—” He remembers again that he’s naked right now and experiences a huge surge of gratitude that Tim’s damn cute little blushes haven’t caused him any awkward physical reactions yet.

As though summoned by the thought, his libido wakes up and takes notice. Goddamn it. “I’m gonna grab some sweats!” he yelps, practically diving past Tim to get to the bedroom so he can hide his growing shame.

Tim didn’t see anything. Probably. Hopefully. Jason winces as he eyes his turgid interest, wondering if he has time to rub one out in the shower. Eh, fuck it. He’ll _make_ time.

As he turns the shower on and listens to the reassuring drum of water falling, Jason frowns. What the fuck are they supposed to do with all that goddamn lube?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Batgirl, doing her good deed for the day:** “Yo Hood, catch!” *Throws tube of glittery purple lube at him*  
>  **Red Hood, startled:** “The fuck?” *Catches lube, almost drops it when he sees what it is* “Why does this shit say it’s EDIBLE?”  
>  **Batgirl, snickering:** “Oh sweet summer child, you’ll thank me for that later”  
>  **Red Hood:** “Are you hitting on me? Cause I’m flattered and all but I’m kinda already…”  
>  **Batgirl, choking on her own spit:** “Omg NO, that’s too dysfunctional even for the Bats, hell no—” *Recovers, grins like a bastard* “But on that note, here’s a truckload of unsolicited advice…”  
>  **Red Hood, eventually escaping to his safe house:** *Strips down, then spots industrial-sized drum of lube* “The fuck…?” *Turns, spots Tim* “The FUCK?”  
>  **Tim:** “Why are you naked? Also, erect?”  
>  **Jason, turning red all over:** “Please tell me this is all just a nightmare” *Closes eyes and attempts to sink through floor to escape the shame of this moment*  
>  **Tim:** “Lol nope!” *Makes up for it by pretending not to stare at Jason’s persistent erection while ordering delicious, delicious Thai food*


	3. Chapter 3

A pleasing aroma permeates the room and Alfred pauses, then sets down the paring knife and reaches for a kitchen towel to dry his hands. The scent of freshly baked scones intensifies as he makes his way over to the oven. He dons a pair of oven mitts and opens the door, his face creasing into a mild smile at the sight of two dozen perfectly baked scones, one batch of cranberry orange and one of cinnamon.

He carefully lifts the trays out of the oven and sets them aside to cool before transferring the still-warm scones onto a serving platter. Once they are arranged to his satisfaction, he carries the platter over to the small table in the breakfast nook overlooking the kitchen garden. He regards the spread with a practiced eye and resists the urge to adjust the positioning of the tea sandwiches and cakes. The tea is ready, and no further effort is required.

As he stares at the idiosyncratic assortment of refreshments—Master Jason is the only person for whom Alfred would attempt to create elegant, bite-sized _chili dogs,_ of all things—his heart twists at the thought of his grandchild.

It has only been a few months since he managed to reach out to Jason, tracking him down at one of his deplorable safe houses. The poor lad had been startled at his appearance and seemed to expect a lecture or reprimand of some sort rather than the fierce hug he actually received. Alfred had managed to extract a promise from the boy to come visit him for tea on a monthly basis, a promise he has kept ever since.

Looking at the tea again, he frets over his plans, wondering if the gentle advice he intends to impart will be taken as interference. The very last thing he wishes to do is drive his precious grandchild away once again.

Alfred frowns, concerned, but then the memory of the exchange he overheard on the comms three weeks prior fills his mind and he winces faintly. No, best to address this simply and quickly. He cannot allow harm to befall any of his grandchildren, not when there is anything he can do to help.

A deliberate footfall, heavier than it once was but still achingly familiar, draws his attention back to the present moment. Glancing up, Alfred smiles warmly at the sight of his boy. “Master Jason!” he says, reaching out and drawing him close for a warm embrace.

In his arms, Jason sighs, relaxing against him for a moment. For all his great height, he still fits in Alfred’s arms. “Hey Alfie,” he says softly. “Good to see you.”

Surreptitiously, Alfred gives him a gentle squeeze, frowning at what he feels. Really, a lad of his build should be at least half a stone heavier. He makes a mental note to double the quantity of nourishing meals he stores in the boy’s safe house freezers going forward. Drawing back only once Jason lets go of his own accord, he gestures toward the loaded table. “Please, have a seat.”

“I got this,” Jason says as Alfred reaches for the tea pot. He expertly pours for both of them, adding just the right amount of cream—a splash—and remembering the lemon slice before preparing his own cup, the same except for the addition of a cube of sugar.

Alfred hides a smile behind his cup. When Jason was a boy, it used to be three cubes. “Thank you, Master Jason.” He delicately serves an assortment of the food offerings onto a plate, taking care to include several of each of the boy’s favorites before placing it before him. “It is always so good to see you, my dear boy. Now, how have your classes been?”

Smiling broadly, the lad begins describing the various literature courses he has been taking at Gotham University, and his progress in attaining the degree for which he has waited for far too long. “And they want me to come back as a TA next year when I start the masters portion of my program,” he finishes proudly.

“My dear boy—!” Alfred knows he is beaming, a rare show of deep emotion for him, but he cannot contain himself. “Of course they do,” he says warmly. “How could they not? It is clear that you are motivated, intelligent, and keen on the material. Who better to inspire others to learn?”

Jason snorts and shrugs, looking abashed but pleased at the attention. “Thanks, Alfie.”

Clearing his throat, Alfred sits back in his chair, sipping his tea and trying to get a hold of himself. As he does so, he recalls the other item he wished to discuss during this visit. Well, no better time than the present—Jason has always been rather more amenable to suggestions and advice when he has a full belly, not to mention less inclined to flee at the merest hint of a potentially uncomfortable conversation. “You are quite busy of late, but I take it you still have time to spend with Master Tim?”

Looking surprised, the lad nods. “Yeah, Tim and I have been spending a lot of, uh, time together.” The faint blush which crosses his cheeks at those words, highlighting the smattering of freckles he has had since he was a child, is all the confirmation Alfred needs that the exchange he overheard on the comms the other night is quite true.

“Ah,” he says delicately, taking another sip of tea. “I see.”

Jason tilts his head to one side, looking increasingly baffled. “You do?”

Alfred smiles gently. All of his grandchildren seem entirely disinclined to view him as ever having been a sexual being. It is as though none of them ever heard of the types of goings-on which occur backstage at the theater.

Master Bruce was the same way, in his day. Why, Alfred will never forget the look of sheer horror on that boy’s face the time he explained the facts of life to him and handed him a kit containing all the prophylactics and marital aids he deemed appropriate for a young man just beginning to explore his own, and others’ bodies.

It is an updated version of the same kit which he lifts out from beneath the table and extends toward Jason now. “In that case, I believe you will find these supplies useful,” he says with a broad wink. “The most important thing is taking it slow and easy—those who rush at _this_ endeavor never come to good ends.” He clears his throat. “And, ah, if you have any questions about the mechanics of the deed, feel free to come to me, my boy—I have considerable experience in that regard, from my younger days.”

He clears his throat again. Surely such a trifling white lie is permissible—after all, no purpose would be served by imparting the truth that those _younger days_ include dalliances as recent as his last summer abroad. No, best stick to the matter at hand.

Blinking rapidly, Jason accepts the box unquestioningly and opens the lid, then blushes a fiery red as he slams it shut again. _“Alfie!”_ he squeals, his deep voice tightened into what amounts to a near-shriek. “What the _fuck?”_

“Language,” Alfred says as he takes another sip of his tea, raising an unflappable eyebrow.

Jason ducks his head apologetically. “Sorry, but holy shi—uh, crap, Alfred, what the _fudge?”_

Really, it’s as though they all think he hasn’t the slightest idea what sex is. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head fondly. There are so many stories he could tell from his early career in the theater which would quickly put _that_ errant theory to rights. “I simply wish for you to be healthy and happy, my dear boy,” he says with a warm smile.

“I—aw, geez. Thanks, I guess.” Jason rises to his feet and steps forward for another hug, clearly intending to be on his way. Under his breath, he mutters something which sounds faintly like, “I can’t believe those little shits got you in on this, too,” but it isn’t intelligible enough to be certain.

“You are so very welcome, Master Jason. Now, may I interest you in a hamper of a few nourishing meals I prepared for you…?”

“You spoil me, Alfie,” Jason says with a grin and nod of acceptance.

Alfred steps back to prepare the hamper, planning to resume the earlier innocuous conversation about college as he does so. He is forestalled by the entrance into the kitchen of Bruce, who looks both obstinately determined and as though he would rather be anywhere but here.

Oh, dear. Alfred has a gathering suspicion that perhaps Bruce was listening on the comms the other night, as well.

“Jason?” Bruce says, his gaze fixing on his second son. “We need to talk. Please stop by the Cave before you leave.”

* * *

Bruce pivots on his heel and strides away, unable to face Alfred’s expression of mild interest and the look of bafflement and mistrust Jason is wearing. He’s more relieved than he will ever admit when he hears the unmistakable sound of Jason following him instead of the kitchen door slamming behind him.

The footsteps are slow, causing him to smirk and shake his head slightly. Even when following directions, Jason always finds a way to make things difficult. 

It was something of a gamble, giving his most rebellious son a directive without any accompanying incentive to comply. Usually, he wouldn’t risk such an action except in the midst of an ongoing crisis. Even Jason wouldn’t risk the lives of civilians simply to get one over on him.

There is a strong possibility the only reason he’s going along with this now is curiosity, perhaps accompanied by the hope that he will be able to leverage this situation somehow to cause Bruce distress. It is likely Jason was able to pick up on Bruce’s discomfort and, much like a shark scenting blood in the water, he is now circling, waiting for the right moment to close in for the kill.

Bruce grimaces. If only he hadn’t been listening to the shared comms three weeks ago when Nightwing went to seek out Red Robin. Then he wouldn’t have been thrown into a quandary over whether to pretend ignorance, or intervene and protect his children from the potential pitfalls of their youthful fumblings. As it is, he already knows far more about his children’s sex lives than he ever desired.

As he makes his way through the concealed entrance behind the grandfather clock, he experiences a strong desire for the symbolic distance of the mask. He strides down the stairs and darts a glance over to his uniform. Maybe if he is quick, he will have time to slip into it before his son catches up with him.

It’s too late, however—Jason is already here, stomping down the stairs and then stopping in front of Bruce, a fist cocked on his hip as he eyes him suspiciously. “The fuck is it, old man? Got a case spilling over into my territory, or what?”

Bruce clears his throat and waits. It should only be another minute or so before—the sound of an engine roaring into the vehicle bay causes him to relax fractionally. Good. It will be better to have this discussion with both of them at the same time. That way, he won’t have to subject himself to the supreme awkwardness of speaking to his children about this more than once.

Tim emerges from the vehicle bay and approaches. “Hey B. Jay,” he says. His clear blue gaze sweeps over them both before returning to fix on Bruce. “What’s up?”

Bruce opens his mouth to reply, then pauses, tensing again as another vehicle roars into the bay. And then another. And a third. Dick and Stephanie both come bouncing out of the vehicle bay a moment later with matched fiendish grins. Only long practice allows him to notice Cass, moving swiftly and silently in their wake.

Bruce sighs. While it makes sense for Dick to be interested in this—after all, he was the one who was physically present to overhear that hideously awkward conversation about Jason’s and Tim’s sex lives—there’s only one way he would know to be here right now. “Barbara,” he says, lifting a brow as he turns toward the Batcomputer.

Barbara’s grinning face appears, appearing entirely unrepentant. “Hey there, B. I figured since you’re calling in Tim and Jason, this must be important, so I put out an all hands call.” Her grin widens.

He narrows his eyes at her. She returns his gaze without flinching. As he watches, she raises a hand and tosses something into her mouth. He frowns. “Is that… popcorn?”

“Yep.” Holding his gaze, she takes another bite of popcorn and chews it with a smirk.

Bruce closes his eyes for a long moment and counts to ten. When he opens them, he almost regrets having started this mess in the first place. Dick and Stephanie are each eating a handful of popcorn now. Where did they even _get_ that?

The answer comes to him as his betrayed gaze falls on Cass, his sweet, compassionate daughter. She is holding an enormous bowl filled with popcorn and sharing it with the others. It’s no use wondering how she managed to carry that in here without him noticing. He has long since learned to simply accept these things when it comes to Cass.

“Hey, what gives?” Jason says, sounding wounded. “We don’t get any of that?” He gestures between himself and Tim, eyeing the popcorn with a hopeful-looking expression.

“Nope, sorry guys. You’re part of the show,” Steph says, tossing a large handful of popcorn into her mouth and then chomping it with a loud crunch.

Tim looks hunted and begins slowly edging away.

Bruce frowns and nails him in place with a gimlet stare. “Stay,” he commands. Tim freezes. Both he and Jason are now staring at him with guarded, mistrustful expressions. Well, this is off to a perfect start. Not for the first time, he strongly wishes he were gifted with better interpersonal skills. It would make this whole parenting thing so much easier. “Boys,” he says heavily, resigning himself to doing this with a large audience and maximum judgement, “you know you can come to me for anything, right?”

Jason snorts. “Sure, old man—that’s why you look like you’re about to shit a brick at the thought of us doing any such thing, right?”

He manages to bite back the automatic “language” that tries to slip out, but only just. “It has come to my attention that for various reasons, I was not there for either of you during a very important time in a young man’s life. The transition from child to adult is accompanied by many physical and emotional changes, some of which can be confusing and perhaps frightening. The most important thing for you to remember is that these changes are normal, and a healthy part of growing up.”

Tim and Jason are now staring at him in abject horror as understanding begins to dawn on them. “Oh my god,” Tim says, his voice higher than usual. “No.”

Jason lowers his head like a bull and shakes it as though to ward off Bruce’s unwelcome words. “Fuck no—this ain’t happening. Is this a fuckin’ bad dream? Am I having a nightmare right now?” He reaches out and attempts to pinch Dick, who snickers and dances away from him, stealing another handful of popcorn from Cass as he takes shelter behind her.

Stolidly, Bruce soldiers on. “These changes can affect many aspects of your growing bodies. You may have noticed your voices changing, deepening as your hormones begin to surge. Hair may have begun to appear at the base of your genitals and under your arms, and you may have noticed your testicles increasing in size.” He swallows and grimly forces himself to ignore the stunned faces surrounding him as he continues. “Occasionally, you may have experienced very vivid dreams and awakened with—”

“NO,” Jason nearly shouts, raising both hands as though to physically push Bruce’s words away. “God fuckin’ _damn,_ B, what the hell? Tim’s twenty and I’m twenty-three, you really think we don’t already know about all this shit?”

That’s a fair point. Bruce sighs internally, regretting for the thousandth time the terrible circumstances which prevented him from being there for his boys when they needed him. Jason’s death stole so much of his teen years from them, and Bruce’s own sojourn being lost in time robbed him of an important part of Tim’s. “Very well,” he says after a moment, regretfully dismissing the next forty minutes of detailed lecture he prepared.

This is the most important part anyway, considering the circumstances. “Certain aspects of sexual practices commonly explored by young men your age are associated with elevated health risks,” he begins. “Intimate homosexual relations between two men can be practiced safely and be quite pleasurable for both parties, but it is important to understand the risks of what can go wrong so you will know how to avoid it.”

Tim gasps audibly, going so tense Bruce is briefly worried he’s going to lock his knees and pass out. Jason makes a noise which can only be classified as a whimper.

Bruce keeps going. This is for their health, damn it. “We will discuss the risks of sexually transmitted diseases and domestic abuse in a few minutes. For now, I am going to focus on actual physical damage related to rough and inexperienced sex between two men, with the understanding that when practiced carefully and with a thorough understanding of the risks, anal and oral sex, frottage, and other forms of intimate relations can be both safe and highly satisfying.”

One of the boys is whispering, “Oh god, oh god, oh god” in a continuous litany. At least two of the peanut gallery are cackling. The loud crunching sounds of popcorn being consumed continue unabated.

He ignores them all. “The lining of the rectum is very thin and delicate, prone to tearing when handled roughly or with insufficient lubrication.” He reaches into his pocket and brandishes two large packages of lubricant designed for anal use, which he purchased prior to the meeting. “Based on my observations, the two of you will benefit particularly from adding this item to your sexual routines.”

He clears his throat, feeling a faint flush rise to his cheeks, then grits out, “Whatever amount you two have been using up to this point clearly isn’t enough. Jason, you need to feel comfortable telling Tim immediately whenever something doesn’t feel right. And Tim, you’re a millionaire. You can afford to buy as much personal lubricant as you want—don’t be stingy with it.”

“Fucking _what?!”_

“Oh holy shit is this an alternate universe? Damn it! Why do I always land in the weird ones?”

Jason’s and Tim’s overlapping outbursts are so loud, the bats in the upper reaches of the Cave flutter and screech, drowning out all further attempts at conversation for a full minute.

Dick is laughing so hard he can barely speak. “Oh my god, this is too hilarious and painful to watch. I can’t stand it anymore. Guys, I’m so sorry, but I was swinging by a few weeks ago when you were talking about, uh, Tim _hurting_ Jason. I accidentally heard everything, and the comms were open.” He winces. “So, uh, yeah. Everyone kinda overheard you two talking about your fail-sex and, uh, decided to help you out.”

“Our _what?_ ” Jason looks blindsided by the revelation. Tim seems frozen, unable to speak.

Well, this doesn’t change the fact that they clearly need to hear the rest of his carefully planned lecture. As Bruce inhales to continue speaking over the ongoing sounds of the bats, two of his children vociferously protesting, and the others laughing so boisterously they can barely stand, another voice chimes in.

Damian’s voice is high and carrying enough to cut right through the chaos. “Ah, Todd and Drake are here—that is most convenient.”

Bruce frowns. He notices Dick’s puzzled expression as well as the abject shock on Tim’s and Jason’s faces as they turn to look at the new arrival.

“Really, Baby Bat? Convenient? Usually, you’d be telling them both to take a hike.” Stephanie is blunt as usual, but he can’t bring himself to disagree with her analysis.

Damian rolls his eyes, ignoring her. “I have been meaning to have a word with the pair of you about what you said over the comms the other night.” His eyes glint. “I have prepared advice and exercises which I believe will be of great assistance in your… continued endeavors.”

Bruce’s throat goes dry. Oh, god. He wants to intervene, but finds himself frozen, unable to do anything but watch the approaching trainwreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Alfred, giving the sex talk like a boss:** “And that, Master Jason, is how one does it in the THEATRE”  
>  **Jason, staring into space and blinking slowly:** “Oh my god” *Lifts tea cup and knocks it back like a shot* “I gotta get outta here” *Stands, fails to escape before Bruce appears and drags him down to Cave where everyone else is waiting*  
>  **Bruce, clearing his throat:** “It has come to my attention that some of you are experimenting with sex”  
>  **Everyone, incredulous:** “Seriously B? You say that like we aren’t all adults who have been sexually active for years”  
>  **Bruce, glaring:** *Raises his voice and repeats even louder* “It has come to my attention that some of you are experimenting with sex for the first time because you are all innocent virgins and I will be personally delivering shovel talks to anyone who dares attempt to date any of you”  
>  **Dick, rolling his eyes:** “Leave the rest of us out of it, this is just about how Tim and Jason are doing the old lust-and-thrust—”  
>  **Bruce, glowering:** “MUST you phrase it that way?”  
>  **Steph, snickering:** “How about this, Tim’s spelunking Jason’s Batcave?”  
>  **Bruce, near-hysterical:** “THAT IS WORSE”  
>  **Tim and Jason, baffled and horrified:** “Wtf is happening right now”  
>  **Damian, popping up out of nowhere:** “I, too, have some suggestions regarding Todd and Drake’s pathetic efforts—”  
>  **Everyone else:** “Wtf, NO you’re underage this is highly inappropriate!”  
>  **Damian, smirking:** *Inhales, opens his mouth ready to begin lecture*


	4. Chapter 4

Jason just blinks at the Bat Brat, who returns his gaze with a really damn annoying smirk. “Yeah?” he says slowly, not sure if he’s prepared for whatever the hell is about to spew out of this kid’s mouth. After all, apparently all the annoying trolling, weird sex-related pamphlets stashed between his classic novels, and goddamn piles of lube showing up in his and Tim’s safe houses over the past few weeks wasn’t just trolling after all.

It was his family thinking he and Tim were having _sex_ and _doing it wrong._ What the _fuck?_

The past hour feels like one of those nightmares where he’s frozen in place and all the worst things he can imagine are unfolding in slow motion all around him. Missing the facts of life lecture from Bruce was one of the only bonus points that came with dying when he was fifteen. Welp, apparently he can scratch that one off now.

At his side, Tim is alarmingly still. Jason wonders guiltily if this is all his fault somehow—after all, he’s the one who started it, asked for Tim to help him out that night. His getting hurt, their subsequent conversation about it getting overheard—all of that can be traced back to him.

Well, shit.

Hopefully, Tim will manage to forgive him for all this bullshit later. If he’s lucky. For now, though, they’re going to have to just suck it up and get through whatever craziness is about to come out of the kid’s mouth.

“Wait, you were listening in on the comms that night, too?” yelps Dick, looking appalled and slightly sick. “Oh god. Uh, Little D, I think it’s… great? That you want to help them, but…” He breaks off, clearly unable to think of a way to finish that sentence which will shut this trainwreck down without offending the prickly little shit.

Jason smirks and huffs a laugh. At least he can get some enjoyment out of this bullshit, watching Dickie squirm.

Damian snorts. “Of course I was listening! It is important to be aware of what is happening on the comms in order to be prepared to handle events occurring throughout the city.” He rolls his eyes. “No more interruptions!” Turning back to Tim and Jason, he frowns. “The pair of you are _idiots_ for attempting that particular maneuver without trained assistance.”

Steph snorts so hard she practically chokes herself and starts coughing. “W- _what?”_ she gasps, wheezing. “What do you mean, assistance?”

“Exactly what about the word is troubling you? Surely your vocabulary is not so stunted as to stumble over such a simple, common word!” Apparently deeming that yes, Steph might just be that ignorant, Damian sighs and explains. “In the League, even Grandfather never attempted to train someone in that maneuver without at least one observer to assist as needed. Ideally, two or more.”

“How do you know that?” Babs asks, looking like she really doesn’t want the answer to her question.

“I occasionally observed the maneuvers myself,” Damian says, sounding way the hell too casual considering what he just revealed about his childhood, or lack thereof. Jason’s vision starts to bleed green at the thought of Damian as a kid being forced to watch whatever freaky _maneuvers_ constitute Ra’s al Ghul’s sex life.

Bruce looks pale. “Ra’s,” he says, in an awful voice, “had you _watch?”_

Damian looks puzzled by their reactions. “Yes, of course. It was important for me to understand what might be expected of me later.”

Bruce lets out a pained noise, between a groan and a whine. Dick actually does whine. “Oh baby bat, no,” he whispers, looking heartbroken.

Damian’s puzzlement visibly increases, and Jason clenches his fists so hard he’s practically shaking.

“Oh,” Tim breathes, his gaze darting back and forth among them all. “Oh!” After a moment, he begins to laugh.

“What the hell, Tim?” Jason growls, turning on him in confusion and disapproval. He may have a massive soft spot for Tim, but he doesn’t tolerate child abuse under any circumstances.

Tim looks at him, mirth dancing in his pretty blue eyes. “Jay, it’s not what you’re thinking, not even close. I think Damian’s the only one who got it _right!”_ Seemingly unable to hold a straight face any longer, he dissolves into gleeful cackles.

It takes him a minute, but then the penny drops and Jason starts to laugh, too. “Holy shit,” he gasps out between snickers, “the brat’s the best detective out of the bunch. Damn, B, you’ve been slacking in your old age.”

Bruce glowers. “Explain.”

Tim manages to get a hold of himself well enough to talk. “Dami, tell us _exactly_ what maneuver you think Jason and I were doing when he got hurt.”

A litany of protests and horrified noises arises, all of which are summarily ignored.

“Is it not obvious?” Damian asks, a puzzled crease in his brow. “It has been clear to me for some time that while Mother taught Todd the League forms appropriate for the highest level fighters who serve the al Ghul family directly, Grandfather chose to teach _you_ the most secret techniques which are normally reserved for the family. Clearly, Todd noticed and somehow convinced you to teach him the superior forms.”

He shakes his head, scoffing. “I knew what was going on four weeks ago when I saw Todd perform an al Ghul side kick to the heart, leaving his attacker breathless for precisely two minutes. It was clear he had been training, and only Drake, myself, and possibly Cain could have taught him that specific move. Obviously, during a later training session, Todd came to harm.”

“They were just _training?”_ Dick says faintly, looking stunned.

Damian huffs. “If you could call it that. The throw which I suspect they attempted is intended to be performed by a smaller person against a larger attacker. If Drake tried to teach that move to Todd and reversed their positions without accounting for Todd’s larger mass, I am not surprised one of them was hurt.” He frowns. “Although I would have expected Drake to be the injured party in that case, not Todd…”

Jason clears his throat and Tim looks down, clearly feeling bad about it still. Idiot. What happened wasn’t his fault. Jason’s just too damn beefy compared to him. “Uh, yeah—halfway through trying the throw, I could feel somethin’ wasn’t right. Rather than letting myself hurt Tim, I fucked my own shoulder aborting the move. Probably wouldn’t have been so bad, but we didn’t stretch enough beforehand.”

“Almost slipped it out of joint,” Tim confirms morosely. Looking at Jason with shining eyes, he murmurs, “I’m still so sorry about that. I really should have planned it out better, taken more care not to hurt you—”

“Holy hell,” Steph mutters, “how does this still sound so much like sex?”

“Shut it, Blondie,” Jason growls, blushing. Now that he’s thinking back over their conversation the other night, it really could be taken that way. Jesus.

Damian frowns. “What on earth are you blathering about, Brown?” Shaking his head, he turns back to Jason and Tim. “Regardless, I consider myself duty bound to assist in your training lest your continued ineptitude renders one or both of you unfit for duty. If Cain is willing, she and I can observe your training sessions going forward and advise you about adapting the remaining League techniques to your particular physique.”

Cass nods her assent to the proposed plan. “Will.”

Well, there’s not much Jason can say to all that. He looks at Damian. “Uh, thanks, kid.”

He’s rewarded with one of Damian’s self-satisfied but still surprisingly sweet smiles. “Of course, Todd. Ah, and perhaps Father should be present as well—he will likely acquire the technique quickly and is similarly musclebound to Todd. He should be the one to instruct him in that move, as Drake continuing to do so will likely result in Todd injuring himself further in attempting to perform feats which only an undergrown person such as Drake could achieve safely. Do _attempt_ not to do one another irreparable harm—Grayson would be displeased and Father would find it inconvenient.”

At this point, Dick just puts his head in his hands and laughs. The sound of a throat clearing causes them all to turn and see Alfred, who is standing on the landing at the top of the stairs. “If you are quite finished, dinner is ready.”

Well, anything is better than staying down here with all the awkward. Alfred’s cooking is absolutely exactly what Jason needs to help make up for the bizarre events of the past few minutes. “Sounds good, Alfie,” he says with real relief, grabbing Tim’s elbow and towing him toward the stairs.

Tim gives him a little smile and leans into his side as they walk, and huh. Maybe the others had a point with all this nonsense. It’s possible Tim’s a little more interested than Jason ever let himself believe.

Well, time enough to figure that out later. They’ve already inadvertently given these idiots more than enough of a show—anything else is going to happen in private, just between them. Jason can’t help but grin as he imagines it.

Oh, hell yeah.

* * *

Tim feels like he’s floating as he emerges at the top of the stairs at Jason’s side. He’s almost giddy at the fact that they migrated to actually holding hands as they made their way up. He bites back a happy smile. Somehow, the embarrassment and weirdness of the past hour seems to have broken down the last barriers between them. From all the warm glances and blushes Jason keeps sending his way, he’s starting to think his interest is actually reciprocated.

As he steps into the dining room, he’s feeling light and happy in a way he hasn’t been in a long while. The last thing he expects is for the night to get even better.

It does.

The room is filled with balloons and streamers, tastefully arranged in some places and an absolute chaotic mess in others—a sure sign that multiple family members had a hand in this. The table is spread with all of Tim’s favorite foods, from the artisanal pizza he favors to Alfred’s indulgent pot roast and the decadent, rich cake which defies description and is made from a Pennyworth family recipe Alfred refuses to divulge to anyone.

The mountain of gifts piled on the side table sends him scrambling mentally, desperately trying to figure out whose birthday he’s forgotten. Damn, he had reminders set to avoid this—what could have gone wrong?

“Whose birthday is it?” he asks, worried. Depending on who it is, he should be able to scramble a present pretty quickly…

“Tim,” Steph says, laughing and shaking her head fondly, “it’s _yours.”_

And oh. Huh. He completely forgot about that. Jason squeezes his hand comfortingly. Tim swallows and takes a hesitant step forward, unable to quite believe this is all for him. “Thanks, guys. How did you plan all of this, anyway?” It would take a lot of time and coordination to get all of them in one place, especially without him knowing about it.

Dick shrugs and grins. “Well, it wasn’t easy. But, well, we all wanted to make sure you had a good birthday this year.” He winces, probably remembering how Tim spent his last few birthdays—traveling alone hunting down clues about Bruce being lost in time and getting stabbed in the spleen, Bruce’s godawful gift of paranoia and anxiety, and staying up all night caring for his bedridden, paralyzed dad all come to mind. Come to think of it, he hasn’t had a decent birthday in… a long damn time. Tim blinks, realizing Dick is still talking. “Actually, when I overheard that conversation with you and Jason, I was on my way to try to see what you were doing tonight, maybe make some plans with you to hold the date so you’d be free for your party.”

Steph nods vigorously as Babs glides into the room in her wheelchair, apparently having made her way over for the occasion. “Babs helped a lot with gift ideas for people who didn’t know what to get you—expect a _lot_ of bleeding edge tech. Damian helped with the food. And Dick and I helped Cass and Alfred with the decorations!” She gestures broadly at the chaotic half of the room, grinning proudly.

Well, that definitely explains the state of the decorations. Tim smiles. “That’s awesome. Were you in on this, too?” He turns to Jason questioningly.

Jason shuffles his feet and looks down, darting a glare at Dick. “No, I guess _someone_ decided I wasn’t important enough to—”

“Down, boy,” Babs says, rolling her eyes. “The only reason no one brought you in on the planning was we thought you and Tim were _close_ and you might spill the beans.”

“Oh,” Jason says, then clears his throat, blushing faintly. “Got it.” He seems to have forgotten he and Tim are still holding hands. Steph drops her eyes to their joined hands and wiggles her eyebrows, then winks at Tim.

Flushing, he sends her a mock-glare and clutches Jason’s hand tighter. At least it seems like she approves. Actually, it kind of seems like all of them do.

He glances around the room, his gaze pausing on Bruce, who is standing awkwardly in the doorway. Apparently assuming he’s inquiring what his role was in the party planning, the big man clears his throat. “My job was to make sure you were here on time,” he rumbles.

Tim raises one eyebrow. “So the sex lecture was just cover for the party?”

Bruce almost smiles. “I took advantage of an opportunity.”

Tim rolls his eyes, then freezes at an unexpected sound from the direction of the present pile. “Was that a _meow?”_ He spins and crouches down by the presents, gently moving beribboned boxes aside as he searches. None of his family are dumb enough to put a live animal in a box without airholes, right? _Right?_

Another squeaky little meow has him digging faster.

“Ahem.” Turning at the unmistakable sound of Alred trying to get his attention, Tim bites his lip.

“Sorry, Alfred—I didn’t mean to delay the party, but I think there’s a cat in here somewhere.”

“What?” Damian strides over, brows lowering in a fierce glare. “If any of you nincompoops has crammed an unfortunate animal into one of these enclosed packages, I shall return the favor and see how _you_ like it.” His knees hit the floor right next to Tim and he begins gently checking the packages to one side, carefully lifting and listening to each one.

“Ahem,” Alfred says again. “I believe you boys are looking in the wrong place.” He reaches behind the sideboard just beyond the present pile and gently lifts a large, comfortable-looking pet carrier. It looks like it’s cushioned inside, with mesh sides and zippered openings on the top and sides, and little travel dishes of food and water velcroed to the bottom. Standing inside with its tiny paws pressed against the mesh door and mewing excitedly is a slim, half-grown black kitten.

Tim just stares in shock, his mouth falling open as he tries to parse what is happening right now and fails. There’s no way anyone’s giving _him_ a cat. No matter how many times he asked over the years, everyone always said no—his mom, his dad, Bruce, even _Alfred._ He resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’s probably just not a good person for pets. Otherwise, why would Bruce and Alfred have said no to him having one, and yes to Damian having as many as the grounds can hold?

That still doesn’t explain what the kitten is doing here, though. Maybe it’s for Damian?

Alfred eyes him carefully, looking unaccountably flustered. “Ah, I apologize, Master Tim. I intended to find a ginger tom for you, similar to the cat you once tried to bring home. At the time, I was more concerned about the extra work a cat would bring to the household, as well as the rather sinister aspect of that particular animal.” He gently runs his fingers over the case, watching the little cat within as it attempts to bat at his fingers. “Over the years, I have come to deeply regret ever denying you the solace of a pet.”

Blinking, Tim frowns. “But you were right. I mean, that cat turned out to be Teekl—there’s no way I could have adopted a witch boy’s familiar.”

Sighing, Alfred lifts a brow. “That is as it may be, young sir, but it does not ameliorate my regret. Regardless, I have brought you this young lady, whom I selected at the animal shelter upon being told that kittens of her color are the least likely to be adopted locally, and the most vulnerable to abuse. Please, I hope you will accept this small gesture as my attempt to amend my error.”

There’s only one possible answer to that. Tim reaches out and mutely opens his arms for his cat. Beaming, Alfred opens the pet carrier and lifts out the little cat, placing her gently in Tim’s arms. She sniffs at his hands and face, apparently deeming him acceptable because she hunches down and immediately begins to purr like a chainsaw.

“Damn,” Jason says, laughing under his breath. “Someone’s got the magic touch, Timmy. How does such a loud noise come outta such a little thing?”

“Everything they say,” Steph mutters under her breath. “Just, _all_ of it. It’s like they only speak in double entendres.”

Dick makes a face. “Don’t make this weird,” he begs.

“Too late,” Bruce mutters, glowering.

“Shall we?” Alfred intervenes, gesturing toward the table.

Smiling, Tim takes his seat, wondering if anything on this table is safe to feed to a cat. Before he has a chance to look it up on his phone, Alfred places a little bowl at his feet.

“For the young lady,” he murmurs before moving to serve the human guests. Tim gives his new cat another cuddle before setting her on the floor, where she sniffs at the bowl before delicately taking a modest bite. Purring even louder than before, she hunkers down and sets to work devouring all of it.

“What are you gonna name her?” Jason asks as he snags the seat at Tim’s right after a vicious elbow-battle with Dick for the honor.

He considers for a moment, then smiles, thinking of the kitten’s bright yellow eyes, dark hair, and general calm demeanor mixed with occasional bouts of playfulness. “Data,” he says decisively. He always wanted to name a pet after someone from Star Trek.

“You nerd,” Jason says, his expression so full of affectionate tenderness that Tim blushes. He’s not even going to try to deny that. Across the table, Steph cackles gleefully and then coughs as Cass gently elbows her.

At the head of the table, Bruce has his face in his hands. “I’ll convert the lecture to slides and email it to you both,” he mutters without lifting his head. “Just… _try_ to keep it off the comms, okay?”

Jason turns with a devilish grin, clearly deciding then and there to do the exact opposite of what Bruce wants.

“Oh god,” Tim whispers, unable to bite back his automatic smile at the sight of a smirking Jason. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Reaching over and squeezing his hand again, Jason shakes his head. “Never,” he says, and it feels like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Damian, looking very serious and also only thirteen:** “I was listening on the comms the other night when Todd and Drake were discussing their deplorable practices and I have a number of useful suggestions—”  
>  **Dick, gesturing frantically:** “No no no baby bat, you do NOT need to research and make useful suggestions for Tim and Jason’s sex life—”  
>  **Damian, puzzled:** “What are you talking about, Grayson, I meant the failed attempt at Drake teaching Todd martial arts which they were so clearly referencing”  
>  **Tim and Jason, cackling so hard they fall down:** “Finally, SOMEONE got it right!”  
>  **Everyone else:** “Bwuh?”  
>  **Alfred, appearing in the doorway:** “Enough of this nonsense! Come, time for Timothy’s birthday party!” *Hands an ecstatic Tim a cat, glares at Bruce* “Do you remember your lessons, Master Bruce?”  
>  **Bruce, sulkily:** “I will not cause my child to question reality, drive him to paranoia and anxiety, blatantly lie to him about the possibility of time travel, and then call the entire cruel and needless debacle a birthday present”  
>  **Alfred, nodding in satisfaction:** “GOOD, Master Bruce. Very good” *Hands him a slice of cake, allows him to join the party*  
>  **Tim and Jason, holding hands while the kitten plays at their feet:** “Yay!”


	5. Chapter 5

Jason eyes the laptop on the coffee table for a long moment and then shakes his head. There are a few case files calling his name, but he isn’t feeling it right now. After the surreal experience of enduring half a sex talk from Bruce the other day—not to mention whatever the hell has been going on with Tim since then—he feels like he deserves a night off.

It’s been three damn days since he’s even heard Tim’s voice over the comms, let alone seen him in person. When Tim held his hand and smiled at him so sweetly during his birthday dinner, he’d really thought…

Well, apparently he was wrong. Maybe the embarrassment of the whole family thinking the two of them were a thing was too much for him. Or he came to his senses and realized just how damn far out of Jason’s league he is.

Jason grimaces, running a hand over his face and wincing at the feel of stubble. When was the last time he shaved? Fuck it, no one who matters is going to see him tonight anyway.

He already ran a quick patrol, roughed up some drug dealers trying to peddle their shit to the wrong people, and generally raised enough hell he’s pretty sure no one else is going to try anything in his territory tonight.

He reaches instead for the Austen novel next to his laptop, grimacing as he shakes yet another random sex pamphlet out of it. Those things just keep showing up. Rolling his eyes, he focuses on his book. The pages are worn thin and creased with many readings despite how careful he always is with his books. He settles back, checks that his tea is in position on the end table to his left, and thumps his feet on the coffee table with a pleased sigh.

No matter how confused he is about where he stands with Tim right now, Austen’s stories are still there waiting for him like old friends, comforting in their familiarity. _Lady Susan_ isn’t exactly one of Austen’s best known works, but it’s funny as hell and he could really use a laugh right now.

Taking a long sip of tea, he opens the book to the first page and dives right in. He’s grinning and snickering with appreciation as Lady Susan’s deft machinations finally come to a head when a faint sound in the real world draws his attention to the window. Without missing a beat, he draws the couch gun and aims it at the form which is currently pushing its way through his window and—yelping softly?

“Tim?” he says in surprise, wondering what it says about them that he easily recognizes the other man just by that. Probably nothing great, but he’s not going to dwell on it right now.

Tucking the gun back into the couch and setting down his book, Jason rises to his feet and goes to help Tim. “Hey there baby bird, it’s been a while.” He frowns as he takes in what Tim’s carrying. “How’d you manage to get all this up here?” He reaches out to carefully extract a couple of drinks and one bag filled with takeout boxes from Tim’s loaded arms. A frisson of concern blooms as he takes in the rest of what his unexpected visitor is carrying. “Seriously, what the hell? Both your hands are completely full—how did you even manage to get up here and open the window?”

“Sheer stubborn determination and judicious use of elbows,” Tim says, panting slightly. His head is tucked down at an awkward angle because he’s holding another bag under his chin.

Jason snorts and takes the bag, then grabs the bakery box Tim is holding in his other arm, leaving the other man free to straighten with a relieved-sounding sigh. “You couldn’t just use the door?”

Tim stares at him blankly as though that never even occurred to him as an option. After a moment, he shrugs, then turns to Jason’s laptop. He begins booting it up, then flops on the couch and sprawls out comfortably as though he hasn’t been out of contact with no explanation for the past three days.

Rolling his eyes, Jason carries everything into the kitchen and plates up the takeout, which turns out to be from his favorite Mexican restaurant in the city. His appreciation ticks up a notch when he notices the bakery box is stamped with the logo of a little hole in the wall place in the Bowery that makes the best millefeuille he’s ever had, not that he’ll ever say as much in front of Alfred. He can’t help but take a peek, and almost starts drooling when he sees the selection of treats Tim brought. It looks like he bought one of everything in the damn shop. This whole thing feels like a little more than one of their usual dinner and casework meetups. After what happened the other night, he can’t help but feel really damn hopeful about what it means.

Clearing his throat and blushing faintly, Jason carries the plates out and sets them down on the coffee table. “What’s all this?” He sits next to Tim and crowds up against his shoulder to see the laptop screen.

Tim flashes him a grin. “It’s everything I could find about the Montgomery case. I followed the data and managed to find a financial connection between their accounting firm and nearly every major gang in the city—you were completely right about them. There were a few layers of laundering and offshore accounts to wade through before I found the connection, but it was there. Oh, and here, look at this—” He tabs over to another window and gestures excitedly. “All those stakeouts over the past few weeks finally paid off. See? We got photos of Montgomery meeting with each of these people, none of whom had a file on the Batcomputer at the time, but with the help of Oracle’s system I’ve managed to identify them as minor players from other cities. I think it means Montgomery is planning on expanding his services beyond Gotham.”

Jason just stares at the screen, his eyebrows drawing together in a slight frown as he takes it all in.

Beside him, Tim droops. “You don’t like it? I thought you would like it,” he mutters, looking away and running his fingers through his hair. “Should’ve just gotten the stupid flowers,” he says under his breath, then flushes and bites his lip, looking down.

“What?” Jason blinks away his racing thoughts and drags his gaze from the screen. Seeing Tim’s apparent distress, his frown deepens. “Wait, no. Of course I like it. Tim, this is great.” Flowers? Wait, does that mean…?

Brightening, Tim glances up and gives him a shy, hesitant-looking smile. “Yeah? Cool. I thought maybe you’d be mad I did all this work on our case without you. I was just trying to do something nice for you, but…”

Jason shakes his head, a grin slowly growing on his face. “Tim, is this… Are you trying to fuckin’ _woo_ me?”

“No!” Tim says, then blushes harder. “Is it working?”

He can’t help it—he bursts into laughter. Tim’s lips draw into a tight, thin line and he shrinks into himself, visibly shutting down. He starts to lean forward like he’s going to stand up and leave. Oh, shit. Jason gets himself under control and drops a hand on his thigh to keep him from getting up. “No, hey—I wasn’t laughing at you. Well, I was, but not in a mean way, I swear!”

Tim glares at him. “Oh?” he says frostily.

This would probably go a hell of a lot better if Jason could get himself to stop grinning, but there’s no damn way. He just found out Tim’s definitely into him—he’s not going to be able to stop smiling for _days._ “I’m just happy,” he says, by way of explanation. “And yes, to answer your question, it’s really fuckin’ working for me.”

Tim’s glacial stare softens. “Oh,” he whispers. His lips twitch into a smile. “Good.”

Jason eyes the screen again, then glances at the array of food. “Did you… research the best way to date me? Like, figure out my favorite foods and shit?”

“Why would you think that?” Tim says, with a blush on his face that means yes, he definitely did.

Jason snorts. “No reason. Fuck, you’re such a nerd.”

Tim raises one judgemental eyebrow at that, turning to stare at first _Lady Susan_ resting accusingly on the table, then the triple-stacked bookcases lining every wall of the room, and finally resting back on Jason’s face. “Seriously? Like you’re in any position to be throwing stones.”

“Takes one to know one,” Jason agrees, his lips quirking into a lopsided smile. “Speaking of, Star Trek, right?”

“Huh?” Tim blinks in surprise.

“Your favorite show,” Jason says, reaching for the remote and scrolling through options until he finds the original series. “If you’d rather Sherlock Holmes, I think the Jeremy Brett series is—”

The noise Tim makes in that moment is too damn adorable for words, something between a squeak and a happy whine. “Why do you even _know_ that?” he demands.

Jason isn’t about to fess up and admit Steph gave him a highly informative tutorial on the upkeep and happiness of one Tim Drake. “You’re not the only one who knows how to do research.”

“Steph,” Tim hisses, narrowing his eyes.

Busted. Oh well. Jason raises an inquiring eyebrow and gestures toward the screen.

Tim sighs and huffs a laugh. “Sherlock Holmes,” he says, picking up his plate and settling back into the couch.

Jason snags his own dinner and sits back, close enough that they’re touching from shoulder to thigh. If he plays his cards right, he might just be able to pull the old stretch and yawn after an episode or two, put his arm around Tim—

His train of thought abruptly derails as Tim grabs his hand and raises it so he can nestle himself under Jason’s arm with a happy sigh. Well, okay then. That works. Still… He clears his throat after a moment. “So… We’re dating now, right?”

Tim grins. “Definitely.” After a moment, he snickers. “I mean, _someone_ has to use all of this lube—” He glances around the room, clearly staring at all the piles of assorted lube Jason has stashed everywhere, from Steph’s purple edible glitter lube to Barbara’s industrial-sized drum.

Jason blinks, then smirks. “Oh, baby bird, you just gave me an _idea.”_

“Oh?” Tim raises an eyebrow, studying him, then mirrors his expression. “Oh. Oh, _yes.”_

* * *

Tim gasps, barely able to breathe past the stretch and burn of what Jason is doing to him. “Oh god, oh- oh, _Jay!”_

Jason chuckles in his ear, the soft snick of a bottle opening followed immediately by the sound of something wet being squeezed out and rubbed against bare skin.

Shivering, Tim releases a breathless whine, a wordless plea for _more._

A tiny meow interrupts and he makes a sad noise as Jason pulls away. “Sorry, babe, I can’t do this with the cat watching.”

Tim sighs and waits, listening to the sound of Jason cooing at Data as he carries her to the kitchen and gives her dinner. After a moment, the bedroom door closes again with a soft click. “I’m waiting,” he murmurs huskily, sending a sultry glance back over his shoulder.

Jason stares at him and swallows, gaze dark with desire. “I got you,” he says as he steps forward and begins pressing kisses to Tim’s bare shoulders before picking up right where he left off.

Tim groans, his back arching beneath Jason’s ministrations. “J-Jason!”

“You want this, baby bird?” Jason murmurs, wet sounds growing louder as he works Tim with increased vigor. “You sure you can take it?” There’s real concern in his voice and tenderness in his gaze when he bends forward to look Tim in the eye.

“I want it, Jay—want _you._ Please,” Tim whispers in a voice deepened by desire.

Jason grins and takes him at his word, driving forward and pushing in so _deep,_ working Tim so hard and fast and thoroughly he can barely stand it, but all he wants is _more._ He can’t bite back the noises, a litany of punched-out moans and whimpers in time with his boyfriend’s relentless rhythm.

 _God,_ Jason’s good at giving massages.

By the time it’s over, Tim is sprawled bonelessly on top of his blankets, every muscle in his back in a state of such deep relaxation he’s not sure he could move if he tried. He doesn’t plan to find out. “Mmmmmmm,” he says, attempting to turn his head enough to see Jason and only succeeding in twitching slightly and then melting into the bed even more.

Jason chuckles, sounding deeply satisfied at having reduced him to this state with his magic fingers. “Here, babe, have some water—I worked you pretty hard this time.” He winks.

Tim grins, remembering the communicator on the pillow next to him and the open comms. Oh yeah. The counter-trolling. “God, Jason, that was so good. I’ll return the favor in a few hours, when I can move my legs again.”

Faintly, he thinks he hears Nightwing’s horrified whimper from the comm. He grins.

“Damn, that sounds fantastic. You gotta do that fuckin’ wicked thing with your tongue—oh, and I’ve been working on my flexibility, I think this time we could try—”

The sound of teeth grinding together over the comms is loud enough to be audible to both of them. Apparently Batman is listening, too. Everyone probably is, with the exception of Robin and Alfred, of course. Tim and Jason made sure to plan this for an evening when Damian was visiting the Kents, and Jason told Alfred during their last tea meetup that it would probably be best not to man the comms tonight.

Jason breaks off, clearly struggling to fight back laughter, so Tim quickly picks up the narrative. “Gosh, I’m so grateful everyone gave us all this lube! It’s great—I think what we have now might even last us a few more weeks, at this rate!”

Jason starts coughing and turns red with the effort of trying not to burst into laughter, glaring at Tim and gesturing emphatically toward the 55-gallon drum of lube off to one side. _“Seriously?”_ he mouths. Tim shrugs, unrepentant. They brought this on themselves. 

Batgirl’s tinny voice rises from the comm, sounding distressed. “Just one of those drums should last them at least a _year,_ what the _fuck?_ Do we need to worry about repetitive motion injuries now?” The grinding sound grows louder.

“We shouldn’t have given them so much lube,” Nightwing says, sounding as though he regrets everything. “It’s just giving them more ammunition.”

“But we had such good intentions!” Batgirl wails.

“The road to hell is a slippery slope,” Oracle intones solemnly, then snickers. “Coated in lube.”

 _“So_ much lube,” Nightwing says sadly. Batman’s teeth grind together so loudly, Tim feels a brief stab of concern before remembering the truly horrific sex safety lecture the man almost certainly plans to finish subjecting them to at some point when they least expect it.

He deserves this.

Snickering, Tim reaches over and turns off the comm, then rolls onto his back with a happy sigh. The past few weeks have been awesome. Between that very surprising birthday party, deepening his relationship with Jason, adoring his new cat, and teasing his family, he’s feeling more loved and appreciated than he can ever remember.

Jason’s just gazing down at him, a soft, tender smile on his face. Tim frowns. He’s too far away. Raising one hand with a significant amount of effort, he makes grabby fingers at his boyfriend, who lets out a surprised snort before stepping forward and allowing himself to be pulled down on top of him. “I’m gonna squish you,” he protests, not fighting very hard as he carefully settles his bulk over him.

“So?” Tim wraps his arms around him and sighs. Jason’s like a big, warm blanket. Perfect.

His eyes are just starting to flutter closed when a loud, imperious meow right outside the door makes him snort. Oops. He just lies there for another moment, basking in the comfort. Maybe she’ll go away?

A moment later, the door clicks open. Tim and Jason both turn their heads, eyes wide. “What…?”

Data walks casually into the room and clicks angrily at a spot on the wall before jumping on the bed. She eyes them for a long moment before apparently judging them acceptable and stepping daintily onto Jason’s back, where she curls up and begins fastidiously grooming her paws.

“Why are her tiny little claws so sharp?” Jason hisses, snickering and going tense. “Fucking _ow.”_

“Why does she know how to _open the door?”_ Tim says, pointing out the much bigger issue at hand. “Jay, I had _plans_ for tonight—I mean, you’ve already got me all relaxed, and we have all his lube—” He breaks off as Jason _moves._

Somehow, Jason’s already on his feet with the little cat gently gathered in his arms. “C’mon, girl, I’ll get that one toy you like out from under the couch and you can chase it around to your heart’s content.” He disappears through the door again, reappearing a minute later. This time, he locks it.

“So, tell me about these plans of yours,” he says as he stalks toward the bed. His low, rough voice sends shivers through Tim.

He smiles. “Oh, I think I’d rather _show_ you…” Jason’s eyes light up and he reaches for him, pulling him into a deep, thorough kiss.

Maybe they will manage to make their way through that lube in record time after all. They’ll give it their best shot, anyway. Snickering, Tim kisses his way down Jason’s chest, reveling in the deep groans that follow him down.

Yep, his life is awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, chilling in his apartment:** “Welp guess I lost my chance with Tim, fuck. At least good ol’ Jane’s always here for me” *Curls up with Austen book and industrial vat of ice cream*  
>  **Tim, showing up:** “Yo” *Explodes research and takeout all over Jason’s apartment, awkwardly tries to act normal even though he’s clearly performing a nerdly, stalker-ish wooing*  
>  **Jason, seeing right through him:** “Aw hells yeah, this is Tim for dating, isn’t it?”  
>  **Tim, wide eyed:** *Nods rapidly, then squeaks as Jason lunges forward and hugs him*  
>  **Jason, sighing with happiness as he squeezes Tim:** “The only thing that would make me happier right now is finding some way to troll our family back for all the weird shit we had to put up with when they thought we were boning”  
>  **Jason and Tim, making eye contact:** *Glance toward lube drum, share wicked smirks*  
> Moments later:  
>  **Open comm:** *Sounds of wet smacking, occasional grunts, loud moans and soft whimpers, recognizably Jason and Tim’s voices*  
>  **Nightwing, horrified:** “Oh dear god not again not again not again!”  
>  **Batgirl, faint but hopeful:** “Maybe they’re just training again?”  
>  **Open comm:** “There- there—right THERE, god Tim you’re so fuckin’ good at this!” *Wet smacking sounds* “God, Jason you’re so TIGHT, you’re perfect”  
>  **Batman:** “...” *Slowly reaches up and turns off comm. Pauses, then removes it from his cowl, crushes it, and grinds the crushed remains into the floor beneath his boot, shuddering*  
>  **Backup comm:** *Activates* “Fuck yeah Baby Bird that's the spot—HARDER!”  
>  **Batman, horrified:** *Wrenches backup comm out of cowl, flings it so hard it shatters against a wall* “This could not possibly get any worse” *Opens door of Batmobile, stares in shock as torrent of lube pours out, the obvious culmination of an elaborate prank* “Goddamnit” *Stares for another long moment, then gets into Batmobile with a loud squishing sound. Sighs. Mentally adds another hour to the slideshow*  
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and tremendous thanks to the wonderful [Rahndom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom) and [Bee Lynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybirdblues/pseuds/babybirdblues) for all their work creating and running this delightful event! Thank you also to Bionerd2point0, Moxibustion, Aldebaran, Shmoo92, and Strawberryjei for holding my 👻 tokens for the event, and to CasualOtaku for all your work tracking those down (and also for enjoying both Jaytim and humor, which inspired me to write this particular story for your gift). 
> 
> Finally, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for being an awesome space and hosting Rahn and Bee’s fantastic event.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


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